


The Other Me

by LouisWain1939



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Frottage, Insecurity, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Prostate Massage, Self-Discovery, Self-Love, Self-Reflection, Self-cest, Swearing, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29711565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouisWain1939/pseuds/LouisWain1939
Summary: 1984 Paul and 1964 Paul somehow meet, then immediately feel an overwhelming, all-encompassing urge to... “come together.”
Relationships: Paul McCartney/Paul McCartney
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	The Other Me

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t want to think about the logistics, but here you go! Taking self-love to the next level!

  
  


It was the 26th of February, 1964. Paul had just returned from putting on a concert. Things were getting hectic, but he’d finally made it! It seemed that everything was looking up.

He was the first one back at the hotel suite, the others hanging back. The porter should’ve already brought up all their luggage. Paul entered through the doors. It was a lavish place, a far cry from the dingy rooms they used to share, using urinals to bathe. They’d made it! The place was exquisite, a whole suite for the four of them, a kitchenette, a common area with antique couches, large windows and velvet curtains. It was already dark out, and Paul could see all the city lights.

Paul was about to enter into one of the rooms, but hesitated at the door. It was open, just a crack...and the lights were on. 

Paul was the first one in the suite, but they’d dropped off their bags much earlier in the day. Nobody should be here…

Paul could figure they just left the lights on by mistake, but he heard movement in the room. Possible explanations were running through his head. Holding his breath, he slowly knocked, then pushed open the door.

His worry dissipated some, being replaced by embarrassment. There was a man there, sorting through a suitcase placed in the dresser, his back to Paul. 

Paul was about to apologize, say he must’ve gotten the wrong suite, when the man’s head turned to him in confusion. The words died in Paul’s throat.

The man was a splitting image of him, though a few years older. Same arched eyebrows, same lidded eyes. He had the same mouth and face. He looked exactly like Paul in every way, but aged. It seems he’d lost some of the baby fat on his face, subtle lines beside the eyes. His clothing was a bit strange. The man wasn’t dressed as Paul would imagine a man of his age would. A bit casual, his blazer was a bit boxy, his hair quaffed. Paul couldn’t put his finger on what era it resembled.

It seemed that the other man too, was stunned the moment he laid eyes on him, doing a double take, unable to speak. His bewildered expression likely matched Paul’s.

They wordlessly stared at each other for a good long moment, their minds attempting to make sense of it. 

Paul’s double was the first to find his voice.

“Oh...hello.” He said slowly. It didn’t seem like he knew what else to say. That voice too, was unmistakably the same as his, very jarring to hear. 

Though the words were simple enough, the man’s eyes were wide in disbelief, as if he were seeing a ghost. Paul only stared at him. The man searched his features, then again, attempted to speak.

“I remember this…” He said, still dumbfounded, his mind wandering, attempting to recall. “Er...I stayed in this hotel before...sixty four…? Sixty three maybe…?”

“Sixty four…” Paul said, the only thing he could say.

The other man shook his head again, squinting at him. He seemed to be unable to look away. His eyes moved over Paul’s clothing, down to his Chelsea boots, unable to comprehend it.

“What are ya doing here?” The man finally said. His tone was more curious than anything else.

“Me?” Paul said. “Who are ya? Why are you here?”

“Well…” The man said. “This is my hotel room...an’...”

The man looked over him once more.

“As for who I am...well,” He said. “I’m you, has to be...I’d know myself anywhere, but... _ Christ, _ you’re young. Seems ages since I was you.”

The double tried to reach to touch Paul’s face. Paul backed away instinctively, and the man drew back his hand. Paul still didn’t believe what he was seeing was real.

“What?” Paul said. “S’not possible. There’s only one of me, and I’m him. Must be a kinda trick. What’re you then, a reporter? Is someone taking the piss outta me?”

“Ey? No, m’not…”

As Paul’s mind caught up, it started to make more sense.

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” He said, realization dawning on him. “One of the boys found ya, and thought it'd be a hoot to put me in front of ya. Well...I can’t say s’not uncanny, but I know better than to fall for it.”

The other man didn’t react as expected, simply tilting his head. The situation only got more surreal as Paul stared at him, and he stared back.

“Ey? Nobody put me up to this.” The man said, seemingly still confused. “I was jus’ beginning to unpack when m’self from twenty years back happens to walk in. How do I even react to tha’?”

“Er…” Paul said, taking a moment. “Am I...am I going mad then?”

The other man gave a laugh.

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m real.” The man said. “So it must be me goin’ loony. You’ve got no frame of reference, but seeing myself back in ‘64? Fully clad in that gear?”

He gestured at Paul.

“I must be the one losing it. Can’t say I’m surprised though, the life I’ve ‘had.”

“Uhm…” Paul hesitated, then returned to a firm tone of voice. “Well...I know what year it is, and it’s certainly 1964, I can assure you. I’ve just gotten done with a show.”

He pointed a finger at the double.

“You see, from where I’m at, there’s only one of me, and I’m him. You’re either a delusion, or a gag sent up here by my mates.”

Paul’s words only seemed to amuse the man, a humorous expression on his face as he watched him.

“Ah, well, let’s see…” The man said.

The other man playfully tapped his chin, looking upward. 

“Uhm…” An idea crossed his mind, and Paul saw it flash across his expression. 

It was all very jarring, how similar to him the man was, the longer Paul watched him. He had his same mannerisms, they spoke the same more or less, same intonation. 

“Iris’s mother…”

Paul’s eyes flitted up. Iris’s mother…?

“Ey?”

The man looked at him devilishly, gesturing to Paul’s legs.

“She combed your leg hair. You got a kick outta it. Felt good, eh? Even a little bit…”

“Ey!” Paul cut in, his face feeling a bit hot. How the hell would he know that? 

“There was that time…” The man trailed off. “...Christ...I don’t remember the dates at all, s’all a blur to me...but...New York, eh? 64...”

He quickly looked to the room window and back.

“Could be off by the day...but you ‘had a red head didn’t ya? Couple nights back? Don't’ remember her name...but she gave a damn good nosh.”

The man looked wistful, remembering the night. Christ...Paul did have a redhead the night before. Still didn’t recall her name, but by god...she did give a damn good nosh. She had long puffy hair that was quite the pleasure to tug on.

His double kept talking.

“Oh. An’ when we beat off with that group a couple years back, you’d surely remember that! We was thinking about Bardot, ridin’ me. I was about to picture reachin’ up and grabbing her tits, about’a finish, then John ‘had to yell out fuckin... _ Winston Churchill... _ the cunt...”

Paul shook his head, dumbfounded. No way in hell anybody’d know that, even the fucking fantasy he’d been having in his head. It was impossible.

“Christ...” Was all he could say.

As Paul’s head rang, his older self let out a low giggle.

“I am he as you are he as you are me!” He said.

Paul only became more so lost. He squinted and tilted his head.

“Ey?”

The older Paul gestured to him.

“I’m you, see now?”

Suppose there was nobody else it could’ve been. It was mad, but the man and him were an exact copy of one another, same mannerisms, same voice, the same memories. Paul gave up trying to rationalize it.

“Well, I can see that much.” Paul said after a moment. He finally took the time to look over himself, seemingly many years ahead of him. “I’ve aged well, that’s good...how old did you say you were?”

“I’m 42. Last time I checked anyway...It was 1984.”

“Nineteen-Eighty-Four?” Paul said, trying to comprehend it. “...Is it like in the book, then? Ministry of love an’ all that?”

That amused his older self.

“No, no, of’course not.” He said, his voice light. “Got more tech though.”

They took another good look at each other, walking in a small circle. It wasn’t every day that you could be in the same room as yourself, seeing yourself as another person would, much different than simply looking in a mirror. You got a better jist of a person’s physicality by interacting with them in person.

“I was quite pretty, I can see that now.” The older Paul said humorously. Paul frowned.

“Am I really that girly?”

His older self backtracked.

“Well...not  _ girly. _ ” He said. “But, cuter, y’know? More baby-fat.”

He gestured at Paul’s face. He couldn’t help but feel a bit miffed. He brought a hand to his jaw.

“ _ Cuter?” _ Paul said indignantly “Well, I can't say it’s my first time hearing it...all over the papers, eh?  _ Cute… _ hah!” __

His older self let out a breath.

“I know, I know, it’s a drag but...gotta be somethin’ ey?” He let out a laugh, wrinkles appearing by his eyes. “Got us girls didn’t it? If they like it, who’s to complain?”

Paul gave a laugh as well. That much was true. If given the choice, he wouldn’t mind being a bit rougher, but in the end, he did get girls. So many at that…

Their humor ebbed. Paul was still looking over his older self’s features. Though it was natural to be amazed by who he was facing...there was another element present. It was strange but…

Paul felt a bit drawn to his older self. Maybe it was that they were so similar...jarringly so...an exact replica. It was fascinating, but Paul felt a sort of stirring. He really was pretty for a man, despite any signs of age. Paul knew he was looking at his own face, but it  _ wasn’t _ his own face, he wasn’t in control of it. No matter how well he could read his own expressions, he couldn’t see into his mind. It was essentially him, but also another. 

Paul wet his lips. Neither of them were speaking. Paul was looking at him, but his older self was also. 

  
As the man in front of Paul was himself, there was nothing that could go unnoticed. Paul could read him like a book, knew every subtle facial expression. He recognized the quick look on his double’s face, Paul knew it well. There was a slight lust in the eyes, for only a second. 

“Well, uhm…” The older Paul trailed off.

Paul knew how he eyed up a bird. Eyes drifting very slowly, making sure not to linger, then snapping back to the eyes quickly. Paul was polite, often called “the innocent one”. Ha! He just knew how to keep it under wraps. It would’ve gone over the head of anyone else, but not when faced with himself.

Paul would say he was often drawn to breasts, but he didn’t have any. Paul noticed the eyes on his hips rather, a brief glance. As the moment lingered, it was getting a bit less subtle, perhaps letting his guard down, as it was just himself. He’d seen it all before, hadn’t he?

“Hmm…”   
  


The younger Paul gave a laugh.

“If you’re gonna stare, why not take a photo?” He said.

The older Paul’s eyes shot up quickly, as if he’d just snapped out of a trance. He parted his lips, his eyes widening.

“Oh, sorry, I- sorry.”

He seemed quite embarrassed at being called out, his words faltering.

The younger Paul was unaffected. He still had a smug expression on his face. He walked a circle around his older self, as his eyes followed him nervously.

“Didn’t mean to stare…” The older Paul mumbled. He hadn’t realized he’d been doing it even. Sort of...spaced out. 

He hated to say it, but his eyes had begun to wander. There was a feminine appeal to his body back then, even if he hated to admit it. Looking at it from the outside gave him a better perspective. It was easy to forget the fact it was himself he was looking at, as a situation like this was so baffling. 

Paul’s body had changed a bit since age 22, getting a bit broader, losing the baby fat on his face (with a little help from psychedelic drug usage), but he knew of his femininity. It was a blessing, and a curse, depending on the situation. He’d gotten comfortable with it, getting such overwhelming praise for his appearance for years, even if at times he’d prefer to be rougher. He didn’t want to be _ pretty, _ really. Maybe he’d be taken a bit more seriously if he wasn’t. But nonetheless, the girls loved it, so he couldn’t complain. 

But he could see it now, rather clearly, what those girls were on about. Paul was beginning to crave it himself...the longer he looked.

He quite nearly jumped when his younger self spoke from beside him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“I can see it too, y’know.” The younger Paul said, low in his voice. If he wasn’t mistaken...it sounded a slight bit seductive.

“See what?” He said. Paul still felt a bit on edge from his drifting gaze being noticed.

The younger Paul came back to the front of him, looking him up and down, still, that smug expression. 

“You’re rather ‘pretty’ yourself.” He gestured over his older self a bit suggestively. 

It was unsettling having the attention be turned on him. By himself at age 22 no less. He broke the gaze, looking away.

“Er…”

“Yeah, don’t you think so?”

The older Paul ran a hand over his neck.

“Well, not to worry ya, but…” He said, a bit bashful. “M’not what I used to be...y’know…”

He trailed off.

“I’m not ‘horrible or anything, people still lose their minds over me, an all…” He chuckled. “...but, I’ve got more lines y’know...on my face. My hair’s gettin’ a bit lighter. S’just me I guess. Feels bad knowing what I used to look like...”   
  


Conveniently, his younger self was in front of him as a perfect example to gesture to.

“Won’t get younger neither…”

His younger self seemed taken aback, losing the forwardness he had earlier.

“Ey?” The younger Paul said. “No...don’ say tha’...I mean… I would’ve expected worse, y’know!”

He laughed, lightening the mood.

“As for all that...” Paul said, pointing to the features his older self mentioned. “S’natural, ya wear it well too.”

“Hm?” The older Paul said, a small smile, gaze again drifting bashfully.

“The lines are nice. They’re laugh lines, y’know? You don’t have my baby fat neither, see?

Paul gestured to his soft cheek, intentionally bunching it up with a smile.

“Makes ya look more serious, lovely even.” Paul’s eyes drifted up, taking note of his hair. “The quaff came back in as well, then?”

“Oh, yeah! Well, sort of...” 

The older Paul looked upward. 

“Not like Elvis though. The hair’s massive now! More subtle than mine, I’d say. Nothin’ like what you’ve got going on.”

Paul playfully ran his hand through his younger self’s mop cut. The hair was very soft grazing against his fingers, thick too, a dark shade of brown, a slight bit warm from his body heat. It took the younger Paul by surprise.

It was intended as a friendly gesture, nothing more than poking fun at someone half his age. But very unintentionally, a wave of lust went through Paul the moment he processed the sensation, the hair running through his fingers. The length too...the softness, it reminded Paul of the girls he used to have when he was younger…

_ Christ. _ Paul thought. This  _ was _ him when he was younger! The man in front of him was living the very memories he was recalling! They were  _ his _ memories too! The man in front of him had  _ taken _ those same girls, perhaps even the night before...mere  _ hours  _ before!

Paul could picture it in his head. This younger version of himself thrusting into a nice soft woman, writhing under him as he panted, sweaty-faced and dizzy from the arousal. Paul knew he’d grow out of his mad days, after thoroughly “sowing his wild oats”, but the memories were still pleasurable to look back on. Every inch of his pale skin exposed, his body new and fresh, neverending energy and lust. It was silly to think of him as the innocent one with how often and many he fucked. Suppose you could be misled by his sweet face. Paul was looking at it now, in fact, and he was nearly fooled. He did look quite angelic, especially in the early days.

What’s more, is that the moment Paul’s hand ran through his hair, his younger self’s eyes flickered shut, stifling a groan. The reaction made Paul’s stomach flip. They must’ve both felt the same thing.

The younger Paul hadn’t expected the gesture, it took him off guard. Somehow though, the sensation shot straight to his arousal, and he hummed out of reflex. Christ. This was a man, twice his age,  _ his own damn self  _ doing it. Paul had no clue what had just happened.

Suppose it was comforting in a way, an older version of himself treating him like this. Paul had a lot of pressure on him, like he always needed to be in control, even during sex. For sex anyway, he felt the need to compensate. He loved being rough and fast in bed and all, but he wanted to feel like a man as well, distance himself from his feminine features. At least he had his friends for support, but it seemed like he didn’t have a second to relax.

The older Paul was starting at him, taken aback by the shift in atmosphere, though with a lust behind the eyes. His hand was still tangled in Paul’s hair.

The younger Paul was looking at him, surprised, but slightly demure. He made no move to unattach his grip. It must be affecting him the same way. Why? Those lidded eyes were killing him. Those were  _ his _ damn eyes! But those eyebrows were darker and thicker than they were now, arching up so seductively. Paul felt terrible thinking this way, but he  _ did  _ look a bit like a bird. Paul would’ve had a go at him twenty years back if he had tits.

Oh  _ hell! _ This  _ was _ him! For god’s sake! Again, it was irony at its fucking greatest! Looks like he was the one lusting after his unwanted femininity in the end, eh? Having it come full circle.

Paul remembered it...he used to feel eyes on him because of it. Women obviously...but not just them. It had lessened a great deal in the latter half of the 1960s granted, especially once he grew that beard. Paul could use it sometimes to get what he wanted, but it still had him on edge. It was embarrassing too, how they saw him as an object of desire, feminizing him in their minds, not taking him as seriously at times. And now Paul was just like those men, towards himself no less!

The younger Paul was the first one to speak.

“What…” He said, under his breath. Paul felt a pang of guilt.

The older Paul wet his lips, still staring down at him. Despite himself, moving unconsciously, Paul wrapped his hand around his younger self’s side. It was soft, firm to the touch. The fabric of the suitcoat ruffled in his firm grip.

Paul remembered wearing these suits. He had done rather well distancing himself from his old Beatle look. In fact, he’d worn the getup as a joke for a music video four years back, mimicking his old self ( _ this _ version of himself), with his silly movements and head bobs as he played bass. Paul couldn’t think of those humorous elements how, his younger self in front of him like this, no longer just a faded black and white image. If anything, Paul had been mocking his image in the video he made, the bubbliness and innocence. In reality, despite his playful demeanor, he’d always been quite lustful. That’s what the press didn’t capture.

Surprisingly, his younger self wasn’t shying away from the touches, he was leaning into them. The young Paul seemed to crave it as much as he did.

“Do ya…”

The older Paul perked up at the voice. It was slow, thick with lust

“S’not strange, is’t? S’ just me. Yer jus’ me....”

“Hmm.” Paul hummed in agreement. It was just himself. Nothing he hadn’t seen before. He knew all of it, all of his body, every dirty thought. “I don’t know what it is...must be….”

The older Paul wet his lips.

“Maybe...s’because you’re...myself. Somethin’ like this has never happened before, but...maybe...it has somethin’ to do with us being the exact same. S’closer than a twin even, being faced with your exact replica, even if a few years apart. Does something to ya on a psychological level, that couldn’tve been discovered before...since it’s never ‘happened before.”

The younger Paul gave a short grim nod.

“Yeah, s’...” He began. Suddenly a shiver went through him. Paul was hyper aware of the hand around his side, the firm grip of each individual finger, playing at the fabric of his suit. The warmth and strength of it. His own hand. “...I don’t understand it, but…”

“I know how you like it better than anyone.” The older Paul said deeply.

“That’s true.” Paul then continued, in a low voice. “Jus’ you touchin’ me...I don’t know what it is...s’ too familiar, but s’not me doing it...makin’ my blood run hot.”

The younger Paul matched his tone and inflection perfectly, the very same voice, conveying the very same intention. The younger Paul leant into his touches, wanting more, closing his eyes. When Paul looked lower, his heart flipped at the sight, his younger self was hard, straining his trouser fabric in the most delightful way.

“Man, I got hard so quickly.” the older Paul mumbled unthinkingly. It was the first thing to pop into his head. “Didn’t even touch ya.”

The younger Paul’s eyes opened, looking at him slyly.

“What, can’t get it up no more?”

That took the older Paul by surprise, his mouth parting. He was flustered for a moment. Wasn’t a bashful woman, was it? As biting as he remembered. He could certainly dish it out as well as take it in. 

“I get it up fine, thanks!” He said curtly, then snarkily added. “Doesn’t go up in the middle of interviews though!”

It was the younger Paul’s turn to bristle. Paul grinned.

During one of his television interviews a while back, the host was this pretty blonde thing. Paul had been eyeing her up, subtly imagining what it’d be like to get her alone in a supply closet, then whoop, it went up. Paul had to cover himself quick with his hands to conceal it. He tried squeezing his legs together, but that only stimulated the darned thing, making little pinpricks of pleasure run up his spine. Regardless, he looked like a looney the entire interview, the whole thing being filmed for live broadcast.

Paul was finally able to let out a breath of relief once locking himself in a bathroom stall. He remembered whacking it out there, needing to hold back his voice. 

It was a damn good wank at that. Maybe that made it all the better, the naughtiness of it, in a public stall, having it go up on life television too. Paul knew he was a thrill seeker, getting a kick out of adrenaline highs. Maybe that lent to an exhibitionistic side he hadn’t spared too many thoughts on.  _ Knowing _ that eyes were on him, that people all over were seeing him. Maybe Paul hadn’t been as discreet as he’d hoped, and they knew what he knew. Maybe they were as turned on by it as he was, watching, feeling the heat under their collars. Paul’s eyelids had fluttered, the smallest gasps escaping his lips that he couldn’t stifle, and he’d came hard into his hand at the very thought. Naughty. 

In the post orgasm clarity, eyes drifting down to the mess in his hand, dripping onto the floor, he felt a slight bit of embarrassment.  _ Oh no. _

The older Paul held him by the sides, gently guiding him to the bed, laying him down. His eyes were focused on those legs. Though he didn’t miss the tight trousers his group wore, they sure were flattering on him.

Paul reached down to his younger self, laying a palm on his already awakened arousal. That prompted a slight moan from him. Paul’s hand stalled at that. His voice was deep, but sweet, sounding different than in his head.

The arousal made the fabric stretch over and tent quite enticingly. Strange that, but perhaps it was because it was his own. Maybe there was some psychological association of seeing his own arousal in front of him (granted from a new angle) making him think he must already be aroused, his mind and body catching up.

Without further hesitation, the older Paul began to stroke himself through the trousers, a sensation he remembered drove him mad when birds did it. Sure enough, his younger self’s eyes squeezed shut, hissing in a breath, his hips stiffening.

“Ooooh, jus’ like that…” He said, his voice pinched from sensation. 

Any response he got only spurred the older Paul on. He applied more pressure, feeling the lustful grin spread on his face. The familiar signs of arousal were clear by now within himself, his heated face, quick heartbeat, eyes taking in everything thoroughly.

The older Paul undid the fly, reaching down. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it did dawn on him he was about to toss another man off. But it wasn’t another man, was it? Paul was well acquainted with the familiar feeling of this specific shaft in his left hand, the same smoothness, the heat, the hardness. That alone sent a jolt of lust through him, but his own knob twitched in indignance. It must be odd having the familiar sensation in his hand, yet not feeling it down below. The disconnect was turning him on in a way, ignoring his own neediness.

“Mmmh…”

Paul’s younger self’s head was tilted back, his eyes closed, his mouth agape, smiling. Sure enough, he knew exactly how he liked it, the speed, the strength of it, where to press.

Paul had an idea. He retreated his hands, which made his younger self look up in irritation. 

Paul moved, resting against the bed’s headboard. He made a gesture for his younger self to come closer.

The younger Paul turned his head, confused, but came closer. As per his older self’s instruction, he lowered himself onto his lap. It was rather intimate, the close proximity, heartbeat, feeling the chest move against his. Normally he’d feel embarrassed, but it was only himself. If anything, Paul felt a bit of comfort, though maybe that made it stranger.

The younger Paul was straddling him, his erection pressing deliciously into Paul’s navel. If his eyes flitted down, it was delightfully obscene, seeing his fully aroused prick sticking out of his otherwise fully dressed Beatle-Gear. It was a lovely homage to his past if he’d ever seen one.

Their faces were closer than before. His eyes were sleepy and gentle looking, though with a lust behind them. His eyelashes were dark, casting shadows over his pupils. He was heavy, but suppose that was to be expected. Maybe that made it better. The younger Paul’s arms were resting on his shoulders, the fingertips playing at the small hairs on the back of his neck. That sensation alone was making it near impossible to think.

“No, turn around.” The older Paul said lightly.

His younger self gave him another look, but compiled, leaning back against his chest. 

The younger Paul felt the warmth of arms curling around his body. The arms moved lower, moving up his legs. He near shuddered in anticipation. The funny thing was that Paul wasn’t even particularly amorous once arriving to the suite, but now he was raging for it, completely overwhelmed by the slightest touch. Must be the presence of his older self. Even now, that was carrying his lust, the familiarity, the hands on him, the scent, even.

“Ready, darlin’?”

Paul brushed off the odd nickname. That deep melodic voice was right by his ear, the breaths landing on it, making his hair stand on end. He nodded sharply, wanting the hands to touch him already.

Paul finally curled his hand around his younger self’s shaft. It was so hard already, getting to this point so quickly. The wonders of his early days…

With this position, Paul was able to stroke him off just as he would himself. He was looking over his shoulder, stroking it up and down at a healthy pace. It wasn’t long before his younger self was taken over by the sensation, his head leaning back, small shocks going through his body. His thighs slowly opened wider, shuddering along with the pleasure. His breaths were shallower, using his lovely voice.

When Paul’s eyes looked downward, he was in awe at watching his own hands stroking him off, yet not lifting a finger. He didn’t have to worry about his arm getting tired, or getting overstimulated and slowing down. Those hands were unmistakably his, despite the slight age, slender fingers, the gracefulness of them, yet much larger than a bird’s, with his forearm hair clearly present. It was mesmerising, watching as his pink swollen head kept disappearing and reappearing in the fist. It was jarring, his mind trying to comprehend how this was happening. 

“Oh, Christ…” He muttered, vision blurry. No man had tossed him off before, in this position no less, and his older self could obviously read him like a book.

Paul felt lips behind his ear, somebody breathing in his scent. It was maddening. Unable to resist, Paul’s hips gave a few odd thrusts into it. God it was good. His older self knew exactly when to speed up, where he wanted to be touched. Paul felt completely overtaken by it, letting it happen. He always had to be in control, never trusting another with his pleasure, but in this case he could. It was bliss. He groaned, closing his eyes.

The older Paul rubbed his thumb deep into his head, teasing his slit just as he liked it. Paul’s sounds came deep from his throat, his hips giving little shivers of pleasure. He was melting into those hands, his body weak, leaning back against the body behind him. His fingers twitched uselessly beside him. He was drawing it out too, not just rubbing an orgasm out of him. He wanted to see every response Paul had to give, see how he’d react to each sensation.

The older Paul himself was getting quite wound up. He was practically experiencing jerking himself off, though not receiving a single sensation from it. It was his shaft, getting increasingly sensitized and desperate in his hand, and in turn, his body was becoming increasingly irritated at the disparity. Paul grew harder in his trousers, his erection trapped between his navel and his younger self’s lower back. He must be able to feel it.

“You’re hard.” The younger Paul said through his pants, a slight amusement to his voice.

“Hmm.”

Paul curled his right arm snug around his younger self’s chest, his other hand still focused on pleasuring him. Paul’s breaths were getting sharper, higher, more desperate. The older Paul quite liked the tuft of fluffy hair he had there, dark and soft, warm from his body heat. He was more lithe in the early days, though his stomach was soft and appealing, quite like a bird’s. 

The older Paul’s hips began to move a slight bit, rutting a small amount against the body pressed against him. It was gratifying, the small stifled pleasure, still restrained by the material of his trousers. He had quite the ass on him. Paul knew, of course, he’d seen the odd photo, women had certainly voiced their appreciation, but it was a whole different matter entirely rutting up against it, his body weight atop him.

“Stop!” The younger Paul blurted out without warning, his body tensing up. “I’m about’a finish!”

The older Paul quickly let go, causing his younger self to groan in frustration. It seemed that it was painful to tell him to stop, and he gave an unconscious thrust into the open air. His member was red and swollen, leaking from the tip. Paul must’ve stopped him just in time.

The younger Paul lifted off him, turning around, facing his older self. He was careful to not let his knob, desperate and straining upwards towards his navel, brush up against anything, lest he be pushed over the edge. He hovered over his older self, looking down at him hungrily, clear lust in his blown pupils.

Despite being the younger of the two, Paul craved his older self in equal part, being driven mad by his very presence. He wasn’t a submissive little thing being taken advantage of by an older man.

“Lemme see yours.” He said in a low forceful voice. “Yer hard as well, yeah?”

The older Paul was quiet, giving a slight nod. The eye contact from his former self was impassioned, shifting the power quite easily, even with his swollen arousal poking comically out of the gap in his clothing.

Following his directions, Paul undid his fly, taking out his own erection. He wore looser trousers now, the fashion having changed. It was much more comfortable if you asked him, as well as less of a strain when aroused.

Paul was fully erect, though not to the extent his younger self was. He used to shoot up instantly, and Paul had nearly tossed him off to completion.

The younger Paul’s eyes flitted down, taking in the sight. His lovely arched eyebrows were furrowed, moving hungrily over Paul’s body. It was a look never directed at himself before, sort of interesting to see from the other end of it. His younger self was hovering over him, thighs spread as to not stimulate himself. All Paul could think about was his own beauty, in front of him like this.

After a brief moment to bring himself back down, the younger Paul lowered himself, their hips becoming closer. Paul’s stomach flipped the second he felt the swollen hardness of another shaft slide against his. 

“Oh,  _ baby, _ ” He groaned. Paul clutched at the duvet underneath him.

The younger Paul spread his thighs further apart so that they’d curl around his body. His hands were clutching his older self’s sides in a firm grip. He began to slowly at first, rut against Paul’s length, the friction intoxicating. The older Paul’s mouth was lax, his breaths coming shallow at the sensation. 

He let his younger self take the lead. Though he was certainly at the higher end of libido, especially at his age, it was nothing compared to the force he was at 22. He remembered his early days well, boundless energy, constant sex and touring. It really was a way to spend his early 20s.

If anything, being at the younger man’s mercy turned him on. He was so lovely back then, yet Paul’s younger self desired him, lusted after him in equal part. If there was one thing he knew, Paul loved to be desired.

Their chests pressed against each other as Paul leant forward. His hips gradually increased in pace, his thrusts coming rougher. The older Paul aided him, his hands moving to tightly grip his younger self’s hips. Their foreheads rested against one another, identical eyes meeting, clouded with lust. It was surreal, that. Paul could see his younger self’s eyebrows furrow, his composure struggling as the sensations built. His pale skin was becoming damp with exertion, his cheeks flushed from it too. 

Paul moved his hand to the back of his younger self’s head, grabbing a fistful of thick dark hair. Much to his surprise, the younger Paul moaned at this, his eyes squeezing shut.

On impulse, Paul pulled him closer, pressing his mouth against his harshly. 

The younger Paul quickly reciprocated. They began kissing furiously, as if trying to outdo the other in their roughness.

It was strange kissing his own mouth, Paul hadn’t before. His mouth was warm and wet as any other, the lips firm yet plush, pressing tightly against his. It seemed that they’d softened with age, yet were still full. Both of them had the same front teeth, tapping against each other at times due to their feverish pace. Their hips moved with the same rhythm. Paul breathed in his own breaths, delving as deeply as he could into that hot mouth, the same mouth he had completely memorized, had his entire life, every little crevice, every little imperfection. It was jarring. It seemed that each other’s energy and passion was only boosting the other’s higher. At this pace, their combined intensity could be enough to drive the both of them mad.

Paul kept a firm pressure on the back of his younger self’s head, keeping their mouths pressed together. He sucked in his little pink tongue, biting his full bottom lip. It was delicious, the fervent reciprocation making it all the more intoxicating. Paul felt drunk off of it. It seemed that his younger self’s moans were getting higher, more desperate. His movements were becoming more erratic.

“Oh, please, please, please, please…” His younger self was murmuring into his mouth, arching his back as his hips shuddered.

“Yes, baby,” The older Paul strained in response. 

His younger self detached from his mouth, their foreheads still touching, his breaths getting higher. He gave a high pitched cry, then opened his mouth wide in a silent scream. Paul could feel the member pulsating against him, releasing its fluid swiftly from it’s pretty slit. He released all over his older self’s shirt, dirtying the fabric. The younger Paul cried out again, a deep melodic sound from low within his chest. The older Paul couldn’t look away, seeing such a familiar sensation from an outside perspective. Wow...

The younger Paul rode through it, more sweet noises coming from his lips, slowing down. He rutted slower against the length in front of him, lovely eyebrows furrowing, his petal lips parted as he panted and shuddered, chills running throughout his body.

The older Paul had to distract himself to not unload, his eyes searching his younger self’s features. The younger Paul wet his lips, his eyes blinking open, sweat cooling on his forehead. His dark hair was already a bit damp, sweat cooling on his forehead. He smiled lustfully when he caught his older self’s eye, his mouth open as he panted, showing off his sweet rabbit teeth. Paul noticed he didn’t have the scar on his lip yet, and his front teeth used to have a bit of an overlap before he chipped one and got it fixed.

“Hmm, I guess I came quicker when I was younger.” Paul said with a chuckle.

“S’alright.” The younger Paul said through heavy breaths. “I can go again.”

The younger Paul climbed off him, his gaze moving downwards, eyes lingering there.

“M’good at eating birds out. Let’s see if I can make it nice for you, yeah?”

The older Paul’s eyes widened as his younger self encircled his shaft in his hand. Paul’s heart skipped a beat as he lowered his head, those lovely lips lowering to graze his tip. The older Paul held his breath in disbelief, his body frozen.

“I know what I like when birds suck me off, y’know. Dunno how good I’ll be at getting it deep though.”

Once his head was enveloped by that moist heat of a mouth, Paul moaned loughly, he couldn’t believe this was happening.

It was wet and hot inside the mouth, but Paul felt about to cum from the sight alone. Those lips around him, such pretty eyebrows, the dark hair, eyelashes landing against pale cheeks. It was his own face! But Paul didn’t think the primal side of his brain was processing that. Such a pretty face...such a pretty fucking face...Paul tugged at his younger self’s dark hair, panting loudly.

“ _ Fuck! _ ”

The younger Paul was trying to take it deeper, trying to implement what he knew. It was difficult with his lack of experience, Paul had been with many hookers who knew their way around a shaft, but he was passionate about it. Paul was himself...he knew exactly what he liked. The lips pressed against him so tightly, the tongue running along his spine, where the blood would collect, making it the stiffest, most needy part. He also knew to give special attention to the frenulum and head. Despite what those working girls knew, they would never know what it's like to be on the other end, exactly how Paul needed it.

It was nothing compared to the view. Paul knew, he knew what the papers said about him, what the girls said about him, but Christ... he had no fucking idea he looked like  _ that!  _ Paul began to sympathize for all the women who used to faint in his presence. With all the blood rushing elsewhere, Paul might just faint as well.

“Fuck, baby.” The older Paul strained through gritted teeth, squinting down at himself. Paul tugged at that dark hair, stroking his head in appreciation. It was heavenly.

It was strange. Paul didn’t know what to call himself. He didn’t want to cry out his own name for god’s sake.  _ Paul.  _ His reaction was to call out “baby”, as that's what he called many of the women he’d slept with. There were so many names to keep track of, so why bother? She’d be gone the moment he finished.

That seemed to work just fine. Paul felt his release building up, filling his lower navel with warmth. God, that mouth. His mouth.

Suddenly, he yanked Paul off him by the hair. A strand of saliva still connected those lips to his cockhead. Christ, if he hadn’t caught himself, Paul would’ve cum in that perfect mouth.

“Dammit man, you might be able to go twice, but I can’t!”

“Well, alright.” his younger self said playfully. He sat up straight, and sure enough, he was hard again. “How about you give me a go, then?”

Hell, Paul really did used to be able to go more than once. An insatiable force, he used to be. Still was, in a way, but nothing compared to how he was in his 20s. 

He didn’t have to tell Paul twice. He pulled apart those lovely thighs, soft, yet toned, thicker darker hair than he had now, and took him in his mouth.

The younger Paul was more sensitive than before, having just cum, but he was back at full mast. The younger Paul pushed his head down, making him take him deeper, his hips jerking forward when not restrained. The older Paul gagged a little from it. He was rather restless, this one. Paul remembered it well. It was so strange that it was his very own prick being pushed into his throat. Paul knew he could be a selfish lover at times, especially during his younger days. Well...suppose this entire situation was self-serving.

The older Paul sucked him off just as he’d done earlier to him, much to the younger’s enjoyment. He made the sweetest “ah” sounds, making the block in his airway quite worth it. The older Paul kept his legs apart, refraining from stimulating his own arousal. He’d get to that later.

“Ooh, baby!” The younger Paul shrieked in the little Richard-esque way he did.

“Lean back,” Paul mumbled from below.

The younger Paul complied, quite pleased to accept whatever pleasure he had to give. He rested against the headboard pillows. He looked rather angelic in that position.

Paul moved lower, mouthing at his younger self’s perineal raphe. Women always seemed to leave them out, afraid to hurt him, but Paul knew what he liked. 

Paul had always loved eating women out, so this would be a sort of variation of it. Paul was curious of how it felt. His mouth moved lower, grazing against his younger self’s entrance. It was only himself, Paul reasoned, so no worries. He trusted his own cleanliness. 

The younger Paul jumped at the contact, but Paul pressed on, experimenting with his tongue.   
  
“Tha’s sick!” his younger self exclaimed, disgust in his voice, but he made no movement to push him away, fists resting on the older Paul’s head.

It was strange for the younger Paul, the moisture and heat down there. In his lustful state though, he seemed less hung up by such things. He groaned, arching his back. It felt almost good, the way it avoided his pained arousal above, the stimulation lower instead. The concept was disgusting, but the depravity made his gut twist in sick pleasure. It wound him up. His erection twitched against the open air.

“Mmm, Christ,” Paul mumbled, his body weakening as he gave into it. Holy hell it was sick, but he didn’t want to push away the sensation.

The older Paul pulled back, admiring the area lustfully. He bit at his lower lip, his eyes lidded. He pressed his thumb flat against the small entrance, feeling how it tensed under the slight pressure. It shot to his arousal. Paul was suddenly imagining the sensation...his words slipped out, low in his voice, under his breath, near unconsciously.

“Christ. I wanna fuck ya.”

At hearing that, his younger self drew back in surprise, pulling in his legs. The older Paul quickly backed off.

“What?” The younger Paul said, suddenly perturbed.

The older Paul put up his hands, smiling apologetically and shaking his head.

“S’alright if you don’t want to.” He said sympathetically. “I wouldn’t do anything you’re not alright with, I  _ am _ you.”

  
The younger Paul took a moment to think it over. He spoke again, slowly. His mind was still clouded by lust.

“Suppose...I always wondered...what’d it feel like on the other end…” He said. “But I wouldn’t want to be fucked by just anybody, y’know...Suppose...there’s nobody I’d trust more than m’self to do it...”

“Well, in twenty years you’ll feel it from my end!” The older Paul said cheerfully.

The younger Paul sat up straight, looking over his older self. He played at the fabric of his dress shirt.

“Say, how about you show me what’s under there?” He said suggestively. “See how similar we really are…”

The older Paul kept being taken aback by being spoken to in the same manner he’d direct at women he was trying to seduce. But it turned him on in a strange way. His younger self began to undo his buttons slowly, and Paul was hyperaware at the eyes on him, looking over him as if he were a bird, and not a forty-two year old man. His younger self seemed to salivate even as more skin was revealed. They must really be irresistible to one another in equal part. 

Paul was bashful of it, really. He wasn’t what he used to be...not at lithe. It was inevitable to age, but after the life he’d had, his beauty had become so crucial to his identity. That’s what he’d been told, the entirety of his adult life. He was a beautiful man, it had been in the papers, people who met him would tell him so. It was true many still considered him that, but the very thought of losing it terrified him. He would see old photographs, and notice the subtle and less so subtle changes. There were more lines by his eyes when he smiled now, his hair had lost some of its softness.

His younger self didn’t seem to mind though, watching him with the same expression he would have watching a girl unhook her bra. It stirred something inside of Paul, being admired like this. He loved to be desired. His younger self removed Paul’s blazer, slipping the shirt from off his shoulders. Paul could feel the eyes on him, now more than ever.

“You,” Paul said. His younger self’s lustful gaze moved to his eyes upon hearing him speak. Paul cleared his throat. “You as well. Get undressed.”

The younger Paul eyed him with a seductive smile. He kept their eyes locked as he slowly began to undo his own buttons. It was nothing Paul hadn’t seen before, but having it in front of him made his mouth water. Maybe it could be some sort of narcissism, all this. People had always accused him of having a big head, but could you blame him? Dammit, he’d be a madman to not feel some sort of way, being faced with  _ this! _ Christ. Paul had always been into women, and despite any subtle femininity, he clearly wasn’t one. Why was his own damned body turning him on so much? There must be some psychological explanation to all this.

Paul didn’t care to find out. His younger self had finished removing his dress shirt, and began to slowly tug his trousers off. He was careless in discarding his clothing over the side of the bed, and leant back on the bed, a sultry expression.

“Good?” The younger Paul said.

The older Paul wet his lips, then nodded. His younger self beckoned him closer. Paul’s heart skipped a beat when those long legs parted in encouragement. Paul had seen this so many times before, birds opening their legs for him, their delicious slits being revealed, lust growing deep in Paul’s gut, mouth watering as he saw the wetness and was drawn in by the irresistible scent. This however, was something new entirely. Though it was a bit frustrating saying this about himself, seeing them from this angle, those legs were as shapely and arousing as any bird’s would be. There was a masculinity in their tone and soft dark fuzz covering the thighs, but that made it no less fuckable. Instead of a nice wet cunt being revealed to him, it was a stiffness, Paul’s very own stiffness, but Paul craved it exactly as much, the level of his desire no different. The way his younger self was looking at him too, that face, his own face, looking at him like that, so prideful and lusty, the cockiness, was driving him mad.

Paul wasted no time in picking up where he left off. He ran his tongue over the stiff dampness and heat, just as he was burning to. It was as swollen and stiff as it looked, pressing against his tongue. Every sound, every affirmation from his younger self only egged him on.

Paul put his mouth over the entire area, his prick, his inner thighs, slicking down the hair. It was as delicious a meal as any. Paul nipped at them, hoping to bring his self-righteous younger self down a few pegs. The little gasps he got in response was as good of a praise as any. Despite cumming not too long ago, Paul’s younger self was already hard and desperate, getting harder too as more blood rushed in. Paul was good to take his time, savor it. Paul would never be able to indulge in this ever again, after all. Not to his knowledge anyway.

The older Paul wet a finger in his mouth, then put pressure against the entrance. He experimentally rubbed into it, his younger self tensing and shivering at the sensation.

Paul was treating himself gentler and more carefully than most groupies he’d been with during his younger years. It made him nostalgic in a way, seeing what he used to look like, the Beatle years, such a significant period of his life. Seeing himself like this, made him feel a sense of responsibility. It wasn’t strange to have a protectiveness of yourself, though the nature was different when yourself included another presence. Paul was older now too, and he’d certainly matured since his younger days. 

Paul knew spit wouldn’t be enough to fuck himself with. Paul had gone in “the back way” a fair amount of times, mostly with the hookers he’d had back in Hamburg, and knew he needed some form of lubrication.

“Your callouses…” He mumbled.

“Eh?”

“Do you have any vaseline? Sort of...for your hands?”

Paul tapped the small calluses on the tips of his younger self’s fingers. Despite the guitar calluses he’d developed, they could start to hurt again after playing for long periods of time. They all kept some vaseline with them to help with that.

“Oh yes.” The younger Paul grinned. He gestured to the floor. “Check the suitcase down there.”

The older Paul sorted through the bag, his old belongings. It was quite nostalgic, he didn’t think he even had half this stuff still. 

Though, the matter of his arousal was the more pressing issue. His hand quickly found the vaseline, and returned to the bed. 

Paul’s gaze returned to his younger self, eyeing him up lustfully. The way he was resting, the grace of it coming unthinkingly, was quite mesmerising, looking like the muse of an antique painting. Paul really did look angelic back then. Worked out for him, didn’t it? Who could say no to a face like that?

The younger Paul lifted a leg, spreading his legs further apart. That turned Paul on more than he’d like to admit. It was like with birds, offering themselves to him so eagerly. But that expression wasn’t. It was much too smug, too self-satisfied. The younger Paul wasn’t beside himself with excitement and disbelief, he knew he was desirable, he knew what the older Paul wanted. He wanted it too.

Paul slicked up a finger, and very slowly, gently, pressed it inside. The younger Paul closed his eyes, focusing on the strange sensation.

“How is it?” Paul asked him.

The younger Paul parted his lips, only a breath escaping it.

“...strange.”   
  


The older Paul hesitated.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Paul reassured him. As much as he wanted to fuck him, fully erect and raging for it, Paul didn’t want to force anything.

His younger self’s eyes shot to him, a bit irritated, although foggy.

“M’fine!” He snapped, but quickly made his voice low and seductive again. “C’mon now…”

The older Paul knew this all too well, the way he took on his seductive tones. Internally, he saw right through it. Despite that, there was still the nostalgia. It couldn’t be said it wasn’t affecting him either.

With the vaseline as a lubricant and the previous attention, it wasn’t a difficult process working him open. Still, he was much tighter than the working girls were, and Paul sure didn’t want to harm himself with it. 

Sometimes, Paul would admit he was a bit rough with the girls he brought up to his room. He was never cruel to them, and never to the extent they didn’t enjoy it, but he would say there was a bit of carelessness. Suppose he had been compensating for being portrayed as the “cute” or “innocent” one of the group! That couldn’t be further from the truth, and Paul was well glad to subvert their expectations, by God! Paul loved to fuck rough and fast, and the girls always caught on. Paul loved to fuck, and he did it often! Hah! Paul considered him a gentleman though, polite enough until it came to the deed. 

But with himself, he felt a responsibility. Maybe it was obvious to not want to inflict harm on yourself if you could help it, but at the same time, those gentle features were having their effect on him, so similar to his own, but younger. Paul knew on a rational level what was behind those eyes, knew  _ exactly _ what went through that pretty head, but it seemed that not even he was immune.

Paul worked his younger self open, the younger man lying back peacefully, his long lidded eyes shut. His arousal nagged at him, full and needy above the entrance being prodded at, breathing unevenly. Suddenly, his eyes shot open.

“Ooh!”

The older Paul’s eyes shot upwards, stopping in his tracks. The younger Paul’s eyes were wide open, mouth agape following the quick gasp.

“What, did I hurt ya?” He quickly said, worry creeping within him. The sound though, seemed like one more of pleasure or surprise than anything else.

“No, no, you didn’t.” The younger Paul hurried out. “You touch’d somethin’ in there...it felt incredible!  _ Christ! _ Is this why people do this?”

“Ey?” The older Paul said to himself. He did recall grazing against a small bump inside. He moved again, searching for it. 

The younger Paul’s head shot back.

“ _ Christ! _ ”

Paul’s jaw tightened unconsciously at hearing this. Too sweet to be saying things like that.

Paul got halfway through the thought before he processed how ridiculous it was. Hell...Paul was processing the man in front of him on a subconscious level, no different than any previous partner. Paul knew how he liked his women in the old days. Feminine, demure, willing to bend to his will.  _ Christ! _ The fucking irony was resounding, seeing himself in a the same exact way that irritated the shit out of him in the old days. Time really was a flat circle, huh.

Still, all his inner conflict fell on deaf ears. Paul was too aroused to linger on the implication. Paul wanted to fuck the lovely young thing, watch him cum from it. In his rational mind, he knew this was his own damn self, but on a more primal level, likely some strange psychological effect that should’ve never come to fruition, the very presence of this man made him feel nothing but lust and hunger. Must be something that could be explained by biology, that he didn’t have the knowledge to speculate on.

Paul focused on the magical spot he’d found, massaging his fingers into it. The more he did so, the more the younger man writhed. Paul was overwhelmed by desire just watching it.

“Holy  _ fuck! _ ”

The older Paul’s mouth watered, his fingers buried in that tight passage, Paul’s full thighs splayed apart to accommodate it. Whenever he pressed into that bump, the younger Paul’s prick seemed to jump, his body tensing, eyes squeezing shut, his teeth gritting. Best of all, were the noises he’d make, shrill whines, making him sound more like a bird than before. There was something to be said about his impressive vocal range. Though it was deep whilst speaking, during sex he would only get higher and higher as he neared release, this spot seemingly bringing out those high noises much easier. 

Paul was able to get three fingers in, but it still seemed a little tight. Looking down at his own arousal, Paul reasoned he’d be able to get it in. The fingers were delicious around his fingers, clenching around them, so tight and hot. Paul could just imagine how it’d feel enveloping his prick. Suppose he didn’t need to look down to figure that, for the exact same prick was twitching right above the entrance Paul’s fingers were buried in. Hell, this  _ was  _ his own prick, Paul would know it anywhere. But the realization didn’t turn him off, that fact only shot more intense arousal into his own throbbing arousal.

Paul’s mind didn’t understand why, but his entire body was buzzing with it. His own prick’s exact replica. He’d be fucking his own ass, pleasing nobody but himself. Paul would push it in, and his younger self would feel it, ever contour and detail of the very same prick attached to him, that was now sliding into him, stretching him open, fucking him loose. In twenty short years, he’d feel it on Paul’s end too. It was glorious. Paul would know how to please him, and vice versa, the greatest fuck of his life. He’d make his younger self cum, and in return, Paul would cum deep inside him, filling him up with his own release, the very same genetic material.  _ God. _

Every fibre of Paul’s being was screaming at him to shove himself in deep already,  _ for god’s sake! _

“Are ya ready?” Paul said to his younger self.

The younger Paul met his eyes. They were clouded with lust, but Paul could recognize the intensity behind them, his own gaze. The younger Paul was him, the same drive, the same lustfulness and passion. Paul knew that was his own face looking back at him, the same quick wit and dominance. The younger Paul craved him with the same mascline desire as Paul did, no matter which one of them was taking it up the ass.

And so, Paul pushed his younger self’s thighs apart. His skin crawled with lust, feeling their firmness, their softness and pilancy in his grip, the dark fuzzy hair, a stark contrast to his pale skin, thickening as it reached his arousal. The fluffy pubic hair was well damp with arousal now. Paul pushed them as far apart as they’d go, relishing in the scent that wafted out. It was familiar, so damn familiar, the scent of his very own lust. That made it all the more maddening. 

Paul was damn well acquainted with this scent. It surrounded him every time he got a moment alone, fucking into his fist, his body becoming damp, his heart beating faster, his breaths coming out shorter. When Paul wasn’t truly alone, when he hid it beneath the covers, it was the only thing Paul could breathe in, his musky arousal, filling his senses. When Paul was with girls, or alone, experiencing  _ sexual pleasure, _ the scent would always accompany it. The simple association shot straight to his prick, his body knowing exactly what it meant. Paul’s subconscious must be reeling at the scent coming from another, his very own scent, the association serving as his own personal aphrodisiac. If Paul was out, and caught a whiff somehow, he knew his body would react accordingly. Paul’s mouth watered at it. Oh Hell!

Paul made sure to slick his length up with Vaseline. He felt the eyes of his younger self watching him. They were dark and deep, with those long eyelashes and arched eyebrows. Paul felt a weakness he hadn’t felt before. He wasn’t just mad with arousal over the young man in front of him, they both felt it on equal part, on such a deeply buried primal level. If it wasn’t sex, they would surely still have this hypnotic madness for each other, the desire to tear one another apart, limb from limb.

Luckily for him, Paul was a lover, not a fighter.

Paul lined himself up with the entrance, pins and needles at the thought of pressing in, how tightly that hot passage would envelop him. Paul hoped it wasn’t  _ too _ tight. He began applying pressure.

_ Christ… _ it was every bit as good as he imagined. Paul pushed in slowly, making sure it would ease in. His younger self had his teeth gritted, a slightly pained look on his face as the object began to stretch him out, even further than his fingers could. They were both holding their breath because,  _ Christ... _ it was tight. The working girls...they’d never been this fucking tight. 

The older Paul’s shoulders tensed, the sensation prickling throughout his entire body. His prick was enveloped by it, tight and hot and  _ alive... _ Paul’s younger self was clenching around his prick, his body trying desperately to find the room to accommodate it. It gave Paul sick satisfaction, taking this entrance not made for it, forcing his prick in for his own enjoyment, making his younger self take it in. God, Paul enjoyed having power over others. 

A vice, maybe but Paul loved it, whether it be the girls who screamed for him, or other men bending to his will, it was all so gratifying. Paul was such a big name now, not only rich and famous, but also widely admired, considered among the greatest legends of rock. It went to his ego, and he loved it. Even with his femininity and cheery nature, men no longer talked down to him, but respected him, even getting nervous at times, like the birds used to. Pleasure coiled around his hips, stroking him.

Paul had to use effort in pushing in. He wasn’t so large, but it was such a tight entrance. It only got the better the deeper Paul was. His younger self’s thighs were spread far apart, twitching on either side of his body, craning his head back from the sensation.

“Christ...that’s so much…” His younger self strained, his voice tight. 

Paul suddenly refocused, realizing his mind had blurred with lust. The younger Paul was still hard, but Paul hesitating in pushing deeper, stalling where he was. He gently rested his hand over Paul’s abdomen, putting slight pressure where his prick was inside.

“Doesn’t hurt, does’it?” The older Paul quickly said, his voice serious. “If it does, I’ll stop.”

Paul looked back up, irritation in his features. He still was affected by the stretch, his cheeks flushed.

“I’ll fuckin’ tell ya if it hurts. You don’t need to go treating me like a bird, hm?” He snapped.

_ Impatient… _ The older Paul thought to himself. It endeared him though, how he used to be. He smiled smugly down at him.

“If you insist...”

The older Paul used his full strength to push inside, burying himself to the hilt. The younger Paul gasped, being filled so suddenly.

“Oh! Baby!” the younger Paul exclaimed. “ _ Fuck! _ ”

Indulging himself, the older Paul gripped his hips, squeezing them. God, his hips had a nice curve to them. Delirious with pleasure, Paul allowed himself to enjoy the femininity of his own body. Hell, so fucking what he was feminine? It was fucking hot, and Paul was the one benefiting from it in the end! Christ, it was good!

Paul pulled back, then slammed back inside. His eyes squeezed shut, and he let out an embarrassingly unfiltered sound of pleasure. The heat was winding around his head, his entire prick surrounded by this heavenly pressure. Paul began to thrust at a consistent pace, just as he’d been doing with gusto the past twenty-seven years of his life. Christ...he loved to fuck!

Underneath him, Paul’s younger self seemed to definitely be feeling the same intensity, clutching the duvet under him as his older self got on with the fucking. Must be strange to be on the other side of this for the first time in his life. Paul knew, however, that he gave the girls he’d fucked a damn-good time. Paul was good at fucking, and had many years of experience under his belt. The younger Paul was panting, his features strained. The older Paul grabbed at his sides, feeling them up. The younger Paul was shivering at every rough touch.

“How does it feel?” The older Paul said, salivating.

“Wouldn’t ya-” The younger Paul panted, catching his breath. His voice was tight, and overcome with sensation. “Wouldn’t ya have remembered it?”

The older Paul’s head was fuzzy with lust, his body’s only focus being his prick and his instincts to thrust, his hips seemingly moving of their own free will.

“S’big...oh god, s’big inside me. Won’t feel bad about my size now... _ Christ! _ ” Paul forced, his body overwhelmed. “Oh hell! S’fuckin’ good!”

Paul never knew it was this good to be fucked. Maybe it was only because he was the man fucking himself, and the strange desire that came with that. When Paul looked at his older self, and was touched by him, it stirred such an incredible, unexplainable desire within himself. He was being stretched, a foreign object being forced into him, his very own prick, but Paul wanted it, craved it. The friction was intoxicating.

Furthermore,  _ who  _ Paul was getting fucked by. He knew his own face, mirrored back to him every day of his life. He saw it in photographs, in the papers, on tabloid magazines. The other Paul was older, and had lost some of his babyish features, but not an ounce of beauty. Paul considered himself straight, but well...it was only him, wasn’t it? Did that make it only a form of masturbation?

Regardless, Paul found himself irresistible. He was getting fucked by this beautiful thing, but older, and with distinctly male characteristics. Paul’s eyes moved over himself, taking in every detail. Not what he used to be, eh? Didn’t make Paul want to devour him any less.

The older Paul kept feeling him up. Paul usually took the lead, but he was perfectly content giving it up. Paul could expose himself to this man, as the older Paul already knew every little thing inside of him, every flaw, private thoughts, everything he’d done from birth until now. There would never be anybody who would know him on such a level, that was an immovable fact. This man had been inside his head,  _ was _ him at one point. This Paul was more experienced though, knew everything Paul did, but more. Paul allowed his control to slip, his sounds and groans flowing freely. There was nothing to hide.

The older Paul’s hands kept moving over his body. Paul was simply enjoying himself, giving into the sensations, his mouth slack and eyelids fluttering. His older self had slowed to a steady pace, the initial surge of desire calming. The older Paul’s hands moved closer to his chest.

Suddenly, those hands grazed over Paul’s puffies. It could've been inconsequential, but the older Paul lingered there intentionally. Uneasy pleasure floated in Paul’s lower abdomen. His older self, without warning, pinched them both between each forefinger and thumb, causing a surge of sensation to shoot straight to Paul’s prick. Paul couldn’t hold back his voice, not only from the sensation, but also the surprise, and gave a sharp cry, his hips jerking.

“Ey!” He said, clenching the sheets tighter.

The older Paul only seemed humored at this, and kept touching them, toying with the hardening nubs. The sensation was going right to Paul’s prick, his chest lighting up, the pinching and tugging. He gave a prolonged grumble of unease, looking up foggily at his smiling older self, who seemed to be watching his features very closely for this very reason. Paul’s mind was blurring, the pleasurable sensation overtaking his thoughts.

“Oh, no, don’t.” Paul groaned.

The older Paul chuckled at his displeasure.

“Feel’s good doesn’t it?”

The younger Paul scoffed in indignation.

“Fuckin’ know I’m sensitive there, doesn’t mean I go  _ touchin’ _ them!” Paul focused on making his tone biting, trying to ignore those soft touches from those fingers.  _ His _ fingers. He had the same guitar-calluses on his delicate fingertips. Christ...just like with his prick, this Paul knew exactly what would feel nice to him there, even though Paul hadn’t even explored those sensations himself.

“Bad enough I look like a bird!” The younger Paul continued, keeping his tone sharp. “Not gonna go playing with me chest like I’ve got tits!”

The older Paul chuckled again at this, it was making the younger Paul annoyed.

These soft touches though...making his prick ache and leak, in combination with the fucking. That magical spot inside him kept getting friction against it, driving him mad.

“But you’re  _ not  _ a bird, are ya?” The older Paul began, his tone humorous. “Gotta get over this hangup y’know...it feels  _ good…” _

Paul’s voice slowed and deepened, smile growing on his face, eyes drifting upward and lidding as he recalled memories.

“Don’t gotta deny yerself because of pride…”His voice was drawn out and lustful. “Christ...m’wife plays with them all the time...s’great.”

That caught the younger Paul’s attention.

“Ey?”

“Anyway…” The older Paul said, returning to the present moment. He smiled down at his younger self deviously. His hands didn’t stop playing at Paul’s puffies, gently teasing them between his fingers. Paul was biting back his voice, but it was still slipping through.

The older Paul’s gaze was drifting upwards, his eyelashes fluttering, pretty gasping noises slipping from his lips as his release began to show signs of building.

“Yeah baby,” The older Paul panted, his words only spurring on his ego. He lowered his voice, groaning, teasing his younger self. “C’mon baby, take’it.”

The voice was his, but the lowness and sweetness only aided in building his arousal. Those hands, that scent, the heat, and the familiarity was driving Paul mad. The voice was so familiar, what he heard every time he spoke, but Paul wasn’t the one speaking, formulating the words in his head. He was being spoken to by himself. It made it all the more personal. Paul wasn’t exposing himself at all, this moment would only exist in his own head, only within himself. It was spiritual in a way.

The older Paul lowered his body, now laying atop his younger self, chests pressed together. They could feel the rapid beating of both their hearts and the dampness of their skin. It was all excruciatingly intimate.

The older Paul took his younger self’s mouth, engaging in their impassioned exchange like before, but this time the sensations were even more pleasurable.

As they did so, the older Paul reached for his prick, giving him much needed stimulation there. The younger Paul grounded into the kiss, moving his hips in excitement.

“Might be easier from the back, eh?” The older Paul strained. His forehead was damp from exertion. The younger Paul’s eyes focused and he gave himself a sly grin in agreement. Paul flipped him over.

“ _ Fuckin’ Christ! _ ”

Paul gripped the headboard as he got drilled by none other than his own damn self.

“ _ Fuck, man! _ ”

Paul gasped when a hand came down. He craned his head looking back at himself in surprise. 

“Language.” His older self smiled giddily as he fucked him with gusto. “Who taught you to speak like tha?”

The younger Paul had to catch his breath.

“Who do ya fuckin’ think? You lived it!”

After a few close calls, the older Paul was getting close to his final release. There was nowhere else he’d rather unload it than inside of that hot tight passage. He kept jerking off his younger self from underneath, pulling his hips closer with his other hand, trying to get as deep as possible. Every bit of pleasure he gave the man under him only made the passage get tighter, make it feel even better. It was a heavenly hole to fuck, and he should know! Paul’d had quite a few!

“Oh fuckin’ Christ…” The older Paul strained. “I think I’m gonna…”

His younger self wasn’t far off, the prick throbbing in his hand, seemingly about to reach his second orgasm of the night.

“Give’it, baby!” The younger Paul shrieked.

Paul didn’t need much more prompting than that. He felt the familiar white hot pleasure shooting into his abdomen, the relief and near painful sensation of a long awaited orgasm. He cried out, clutching his well-shaped hips tight.   
  


“Oh, baby!”

Paul was coming down from it, making sure he took every bit of that load, when his younger self began his second orgasm. Paul groaned from deep within his throat, shooting into his older self’s hand, sullying the bed sheets. The older Paul made sure to rub every drop out of it. It was just as pleasurable as the first one, if not more so.

Paul collapsed onto his younger self, holding him snug to his body. His head was spinning. It all happened so fast, the transition from simply speaking...to this. In post orgasm clarity, Paul wondered how they so quickly rushed to sex when presented with their exact replica.

Hell, Paul’s body was warm against his, the same size, every feature of the same genetic code. The familiar scent was comforting as their heartbeats slowed and skin cooled. Paul ran his hand over his younger self’s subtle curves, feeling how soft yet firm his flesh was. Both of them were spent, yet it was still so gratifying being pressed against each other’s unclothed bodies. Gradually, they both drifted off.

By the time morning had come, they were both alone in their own respective eras, in the same room, twenty years apart.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I started this in November, and finally got around to editing it this week. It needed to be made.
> 
> Keep in mind vaseline is external use only!


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